


this is the view from the other side

by Green



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BAMF Stiles, Blow Jobs, Competency, Fighting, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Oral Sex, POV Peter Hale, Pack Bonding, Pining Peter Hale, Rescue Missions, Rimming, Training, and they lived happily ever after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-09 09:58:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11666820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green
Summary: Peter agrees to teach Stiles to defend himself and in return, gets the one thing he really needs - Pack.He's selfish but he's not greedy. He's determined not to push for more.





	this is the view from the other side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mia6363](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia6363/gifts).



Peter notices Stiles limping when he thinks nobody's looking. That he touches his side where the wendigo landed a blow. His eyes are tight around the corners, his face paler than usual. He's hurt, and the others don't notice. But Peter sees what they overlook.

He's not going to draw attention if Stiles doesn't want it known. But he'll be damned if he lets this continue. Stiles is the only one worthy of calling Pack, if only in the privacy of his mind, and he's not losing his Pack. Not again. Not to something avoidable.

The afterparty breaks up, everyone going their own way. Peter gets into Stiles's Jeep before he reaches it.

Stiles stops dead in his tracks when he sees Peter in his passenger seat. "What do you want?"

"A ride home."

Stiles stares. Peter gives a pleasant smile. He knows the boy has wanted to see where he lives, and curiosity won't let him say no.

Sure enough, Stiles gets into the Jeep and starts it up. "Directions?"

"Drive over to Riverbend." 

Stiles nods and drives, though his left hand keeps straying to his side. Peter doesn't smell blood, but that doesn't mean anything. 

"I saw you tonight," Peter remarks. He makes it sound like coincidence. "I know you got hurt."

"Hurt, me?" Stiles says. "Shyeah right. No. Nope."

"You're not even trying to fool me with that." He's heard Stiles lie with much more cunning, much more skill. He's not even attempting to get away with it. Something about that warms Peter's heart.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "I'm not _injured_. Just hurt a little."

"I won't believe that unless I see it with my own eyes."

Stiles scowls. "Is that what this is about? You're making me take you home so you can play doctor? Not happening, bud."

"No. I'm making you take me home because I'm tired and didn't feel like walking."

Stiles grumbles under his breath. "I should make you pitch in for gas."

"I'll let you raid my kitchen for a snack." He'd offer to cook, but he doubts that would be met with anything but suspicion. "Besides, I have an offer for you." He dangles that in front of Stiles like a feathered cat toy, waiting for the boy to pounce.

Stiles gives him a sharp look and turns toward Peter's apartment. "I'm not sure I want to know what you think you can offer me." Lie.

Peter smirks. He knows exactly how curious Stiles is.

"So are you gonna tell me what this offer is, or what?" Stiles asks. "And stop looking so smug."

"Maybe I can teach you some patience," Peter says. He points to the car park for his building. "My space is on the first level."

They park and Peter leads Stiles to the elevator. Stiles stands awkwardly and Peter knows he's hurting. Once the elevator chimes at the right floor, Peter leads Stiles out with a hand brushing his lower back.

"What-?" Stiles asks, but then is too busy looking around to finish his thought.

It’s not as good as skin on skin. Peter can't drain his pain like this, or really scent-mark him. But it gives Peter a thrill to be able to do it.

Peter unlocks his door and motions for Stiles to go inside. Stiles enters Peter's home (his den), and his eyes go everywhere, trying to take in everything at once. While Stiles looks around, Peter keeps his eyes on Stiles, taking in every reaction.

Peter's home isn't huge, but is large enough that he doesn't feel like he's suffocating. There’s color everywhere, though it's tastefully done. He can tell Stiles is surprised.

"Not what I was expecting, but I like it." Stiles turns around in a slow circle, then wanders into the kitchen. "I was promised snacks."

Peter closes the door and locks it. He can hear anyone coming, but he likes to feel secure. "What were you expecting?" 

He hears cabinet doors opening and closing, and then the refrigerator and freezer doors as Stiles plunders his kitchen. "Aha! I can have an ice cream sandwich, right?"

"Of course." Peter is happier to provide than he should be. 

Stiles comes back and plops onto the sofa. "I don't know. I mean, after I started thinking of you living in an apartment instead of a batcave, I guess I expected something colder. Lots of black and white, maybe chrome and glass. This is… homier than I expected." One of his hands runs over the plush burgundy sofa seat, then squeezes one of the batik throw pillows.

Peter sits on the coffee table in front of Stiles. His table set is sturdy, made of rich mahogany, and supports his weight easily. "I spent entirely too long in institutional environments to enjoy 'cold' decor," he answers quietly.

Stiles tilts his head, and Peter can see him working that out. It's in his eyes, in the slight parting of his lips. He nods and looks around again, this time taking everything in with a different perspective. "I get that." Stiles meets his eyes and there's genuine understanding there, though thankfully no pity.

Stiles leans back and gives a short sigh. His eyebrows knit and he touches his side gingerly. He takes a few bites of his ice cream sandwich but doesn't appear to enjoy it.

"Let me see how bad it is." Peter’s hands hover, but he doesn't touch without permission.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "It's no big deal," he says, but then he's rucking up his shirt and showing Peter a large reddened area that is already turning to mottled bruising. There's no blood flowing, though there is some abrasion. Stiles winces when he sees it. "Looks worse than it is."

"I highly doubt that. May I?"

"Poke away," Stiles says, sounding resigned.

Peter runs his hand over it, fingertips gentle, listening to Stiles's heartbeat and feeling for any cracks along the ribs.

"Do you even know what you're doing?" Stiles hisses when Peter touches a spot that's more sore than the rest. "Ow!"

Satisfied nothing's seriously injured, Peter begins drawing the pain. "Eat your ice cream. Our pack had human members, and children thinking they're indestructible is universal," Peter murmurs.

Stiles blinks at the black seeping into Peter's veins as the pain is taken away. He sighs, relaxing more against the cushions. "Thanks." His eyes go back to Peter's face, leaving Peter feeling suddenly vulnerable. Unmasked.

Disarmed.

That's the problem with his feelings for this boy. They leave him defenseless. He dreads the day Stiles figures it out and realizes what a weapon he holds. 

"That doesn't hurt you, does it?" Stiles asks. Peter gives him a look and he finishes his ice cream before it melts all over.

"Tingles, mostly, especially with minor hurts." Not that he would have admitted if it did hurt him. 

Stiles's eyelids slip down to half-mast, giving him a soft, almost drugged look, especially with his pupils so large. Peter can almost pretend lust, though the steady beat of his heart belies that fantasy. "Don't know why you're doing this," Stiles murmurs, "but I'm not turning down a free pain drain."

"Who said it was free?" Peter quirks his lips. "I have a condition."

"Nope, too late." Stiles gives a smirk of his own. "You didn't say that first."

"Foiled," Peter says lightly. "I need to keep my eye on you. You're too quick."

Stiles snorts. Peter runs his thumb over Stiles's bare skin. 

"What would it have been?" Stiles asks, showing no outward reaction to the extra, stolen touch. His heart beat quickens, though. "Your condition, I mean."

"I want you to hear me out on my offer." It's not a lie, he does want Stiles to hear him out. But he knows Stiles would have done that anyway. 

"I can do that," Stiles says. "I'm already curious. Which you know."

Peter reluctantly withdraws his hand. He's taken all the pain he can, at least for now. "Let me teach you to defend yourself."

"That's your offer? Why?" Curiosity burns in Stiles's eyes. "Why do you care?"

"Think, Stiles. You're important to the pack, to our stability and continued survival. What happens if we lose that because you weren't prepared?" 

Stiles blinks. Peter wants to growl at the incomprehension on his face. "Who keeps us together?"

"Scott," Stiles answers promptly.

Peter rolls his eyes. "If you think I'm in this pack because of Scott…"

"Well maybe not you," Stiles concedes, frowning.

"And who keeps Scott together?" Peter leans forward, trying to draw the answer out of Stiles. "Who offers him support when he's feeling inadequate?"

"Derek?" Stiles says, but his heart blips. "Okay, yeah, I'm always there for my bro. But that doesn't mean I'm indispensable."

If he only knew how wrong he is. "Fine. You're right. This is entirely selfish of me. If you get yourself killed I'll have no one intelligent to talk to, and go mad. Again."

Stiles meets and holds his gaze. Peter doesn't know what he sees there. He hopes his snark has him covered, but sometimes he gets the feeling the boy can see right through it.

It's terrifying.

"And what is it you want to teach me?" Stiles finally asks, leaning in.

Peter's got him now. He smiles, shrugs. "Hand to hand. Maybe some knifework. How to pit yourself against someone stronger than you and survive."

Stiles narrows his eyes, thinking about it, but Peter knows he’ll agree. "That's what I get out of it. What do you want in return?"

It catches him off guard, but of course Stiles would expect an ulterior motive.

"Pack." It comes out his mouth before he can stop it. He wonders if this horrified embarrassment is how Stiles feels all the time. He looks away, trying to think of how to salvage the conversation.

"You aren't close enough to the others to really satisfy your need for pack ties, right?" Stiles asks.

"You're too perceptive for your own good," Peter says wryly.

Stiles gives him a smug smile. "Thanks." Then, surprisingly, "You've got a deal."

"Without an explanation?"

"I've been around werewolves enough to know what it means, Peter," Stiles says. "You want to be pack with me. I get it. I'm probably crazy for agreeing, but it's not like I'm getting nothing out of the deal."

This boy will be his downfall.

* * *

Two days later they're off to a good start. 

"You have to identify the weak spots and then go for them," Peter says. "On me that's what?"

"Your eyes and your balls?" Stiles asks.

Peter smirks. "Those are two. There are more, which I'll show you, and how to use them in a fight."

He takes Stiles's hand, guiding it through his points of vulnerability, and how to use them in a fight. The last is his throat.

"Here," Peter says, guiding Stiles's hand and baring his throat. It gives him a thrill along with a flash of fear. But Stiles doesn't understand the meaning when he rests his hand just so against Peter's skin. "Feel with your fingertips. On my right side is the right common carotid artery and over here the internal jugular vein. Move over to the left and you've got the left common carotid artery. The carotid arteries are deeper and better protected than the jugular, but you go at them with a blade and enough force and you've got it."

Stiles runs his fingertip down as directed. Peter fights not to shiver.

"When do I get a knife?"

Peter smiles.

* * *

"I taught you offense first because it's fun and I know you like to be proactive," Peter explains. "But it won't matter if you're dead. Defense is just as important."

"Teach me, oh wise one," Stiles says with a roll of his eyes. But even with the sass, Peter can tell he's determined to learn.

Peter smirks. "Come at me. I'll show you what to do." Stiles raises his eyebrows."Try to hit me," Peter insists. "Don't worry, you won't hurt me."

"I'm not worried." Stiles aims a punch at Peter's throat which he deflects. Stiles stops. Without instruction he aims again, slower this time, and Peter slows his own movements so Stiles can see what he does. They go through the motion twice more.

"You think you have it?" Peter asks.

"Go slow?" 

Peter does. Stiles deflects near perfectly. Peter nods. "Good. Now let's do that about a hundred more times, and then we'll move on."

Stiles groans, but doesn't complain. Peter knows he's smart enough to understand muscle memory.

* * *

Stiles shows up outside of a scheduled session. Peter lets him in anyway. "Is something wrong?" he asks.

"We haven't hung out except to practice." Stiles’s hands are deep in his pockets as he looks everywhere but at Peter.

Peter gestures for him to go on. Stiles rolls his eyes."You want pack? We gotta act like pack." He whips out the words like a challenge.

Peter lets his amusement show, smirking. "What do you think pack acts like?"

Stiles shrugs. "Dunno. But I figure we can marathon Leverage and order pizza."

"What's Leverage?" 

Stiles’s jaw drops his and pushes inside. "Oh, man. You. I can't believe you've never seen it! You're gonna love it."

After the pilot, Peter can say Stiles wasn't wrong. He likes the show. A lot. "How many episodes?"

Stiles grins. "Five seasons. And it only gets better."

Peter settles back beside Stiles, their shoulders touching. He feels warm and, for the first time in a long time, _included_. They watch the first six episodes back to back, and they end up dozing against each other.

Peter wakes before Stiles. Stiles's head is on his shoulder and his heart is fast even in his sleep. Peter loves the way their scents have begun to mingle, the way his apartment smells more like _PeterStiles_ than just him. He knows that soon the others will recognize his scent on Stiles. The thought gives him a possessive thrill, though he wonders what the fallout will be.

He hears Stiles's heartbeat pick up speed as he wakes, and Peter closes his eyes, pretending he's still asleep. He's interested in Stiles's reaction.

Stiles moves, probably looking at Peter. He sucks in a breath and lets it out very slowly, like he's trying to be as quiet as possible. After a moment, he puts his head back on Peter's shoulder and lets out a sigh. He smells sleepy and content, and Peter can't hold back — he nuzzles the top of Stiles's head. He can play it off as an unconscious gesture. He's unconscious, after all.

Stiles lets out a huff of laughter and goes boneless. Soon his breathing evens out again and Peter knows he's asleep.

Peter spends the next hour basking in the closeness of his packmate, his boy. 

When Stiles wakes again, he has to leave. Peter touches his shoulder on his way out. Stiles stops and quirks an eyebrow.

Peter's not sure what to say other than, "Thank you, Stiles."

His boy seems to understand.

* * *

The problem with spending so much time with Stiles is that it gives it gives hope the opportunity to take root. He knows better, knows that life rarely works out the way you want it to. The only way to make your outcomes match your expectations is to nudge them along, and this isn’t something Peter is prepared to push. Stiles is too smart for subtle manipulation, and if he gets the idea that Peter is trying to lure him into bed…

Maybe it wouldn't be the end of their relationship, because Peter suspects Stiles wants him. He smells like lust more and more frequently, and his eyes track Peter's form when they're sparring in a way that has nothing to do with self-defense.

And if sex was all Peter wanted, maybe he'd try. But Stiles means too much to him. He wants more from his boy. He just doesn't think he has a chance in hell of getting it. A fuck? Maybe. A romantic relationship? Peter's not so sure.

But it's okay, because they're pack, now. Stiles comes to visit, and they spar or watch shows on Netflix or bicker about what food to order. Stiles knows about scent marking and allows Peter to do it. He's even started to touch back, to spread his own scent on Peter in innocent, comfortable ways. It's enough. Peter's not going to risk what he has for something more. He's selfish, but he doesn't have to be greedy.

* * *

The summer after Stiles's graduation is quiet. Peter is grateful; they all deserve a break. It also gives him plenty of time to work with Stiles.

The rest of the pack seems to splinter. Peter's noticed Scott and Lydia have grown closer, and are spending more time together just the two of them. The younger pups (Peter can't remember half their names) have formed their own clique, which is understandable. Derek and Braeden are out of town a lot, doing who knows what. Peter knows Braeden will keep Derek out of any major trouble (as much as possible), so he's not too worried. Malia has a girlfriend, though she hasn't brought her around yet.

It leaves Stiles and Peter alone. If it bothers Stiles, he doesn't show it. He doesn't even mention the way the pack has fractured, he just keeps showing up to Peter's place more and more often.

Peter buys Stiles a knife and a pair of strops to keep it sharp. He leaves the wrapped package on his coffee table with a tag on it bearing Stiles's name. Then he leaves it alone, letting Stiles find and open it himself. Peter doesn't want to make too big a deal of it.

Stiles has other ideas. Peter comes out of the kitchen to find Stiles with the knife, and when Stiles sees him he sets it down carefully and then goes in for a hug. Peter hesitates, shocked, but then lets his arms come up to hold on. The embrace goes on for longer than he expects, and it's Stiles who pulls away, something in his eyes that Peter can't decipher.

"I… Thanks. For the knife and the belt things." He smells nervous now, though Peter can't think why he would be.

"Strops," Peter corrects. "For sharpening. I'll teach you how."

"Why are there two of them?" Stiles asks, picking them up and feeling along one and then the other. Peter sees when he feels the difference. "Oh, I get it."

Peter nods. "One has a finer grain than the other," he says. "You use the rougher one first, and the finer one after. Keep your knife honed. Some people can use just about any surface for sharpening, but you need more experience first. I figured this would be easier than a whetstone."

"I like them. Thank you," he says again, his smile genuine and a little shy. He smells like happiness.

* * *

Sometimes Peter takes him out to the woods to train, where they have more freedom than in Peter's apartment. It gives them space and privacy, two things they need. It also gives Peter a chance to teach Stiles to use his surroundings. 

"What if I take your knife away?" Peter asks. Stiles looks aghast and Peter chuckles. "In a fight," he clarifies. "What if you lose your knife? What do you do?" 

"...Try to get it back?"

Peter rolls his eyes. "Forget the knife. It’s gone."

"Okay. So what am I fighting?" Stiles asks, and Peter smiles.

"Some fae creature, let's say."

"Iron?" 

"Where are you going to get iron in the forest?" Peter asks, fondly exasperated.

Stiles looks around with a rueful look on his face. "Right. Okay, what else, then?"

Peter points out a nearby bush. "That's hawthorn. You may not be able to kill them with it, but it'll protect you. You could hide in it until one of us came along -"

"No way am I hiding in a bush waiting for you to save me, mister."

Peter smiles. "But I _would_ save you."

Stiles gives him a grin in return. "Yeah. I know."

And that's… not surprising, exactly, but still good to hear. To know that Stiles accepts that he's not the bad guy.

"Oak is also good protection against fae," Peter says, patting a nearby tree. "And you already know they can't take you if iron is touching your skin."

Stiles nods, listening. "And I should never tell them my true name, or get into word games with them because I'll probably lose and you never want to owe fae."

"Good. I'm glad you've been listening to me."

"So how do I kill one?" Stiles asks, looking around for a possible weapon.

Peter laughs. "Bloodthirsty little thing, aren't you? You shouldn't try to kill fae creatures unless you absolutely have to. It's better to live to fight another day."

"But-"

"Stiles," Peter says seriously, "I'm teaching you all this so you can survive. So you don't get hurt. That's what's important."

Stiles blinks and licks his lips in a nervous gesture Peter recognizes. "You really… you care. That much. About me, I mean." Before Peter can answer, Stiles is moving closer. "I didn't really believe it at first, that it's what this was all about, but… you do. Right?"

"You're pack."

Stiles is still moving closer and it's so tempting to just reach out and reel him in, to kiss him until there's no doubt in the boy's mind how he feels.

"You could have done this for Malia," Stiles says uncertainly. 

"Malia can take care of herself," Peter says. "I don't worry about Malia." Then he pauses, because he really shouldn't lie so blatantly. "Much. She can fight, and … well, her self-preservation instinct isn't as strong as I'd like it to be, but it's there."

"Do you consider Malia pack?" 

Peter hasn't thought of it much. He shrugs. "She can barely stand me. We don't get along. But... I suppose."

"Okay, so. Why _me_?"

"Malia is pack by blood. So are Derek and Cora. You're the pack I chose. You're the only one I…" He catches himself and lets the sentence trail off.

And Stiles, amazingly enough, doesn't push for more. He stands there a moment, then smiles. "Well, you have good taste."

* * *

The subject of college comes up eventually. Inevitably. So far Peter's been keeping his plans to himself, but of course Stiles wants to know.

"If your pack is in another state, how do you cope?" He smells of anxiety. Worry. He fiddles with a button on his flannel.

"If you must know, I was planning to go with you." Peter cuts his eyes to Stiles to gauge his reaction.

Stiles's eyes go wide. "You're just gonna pick up and go because of me? Leave everything here?"

"The only thing I'd really be leaving is Malia." It's true. He's ready to leave the memories of Beacon Hills behind. "But I have a feeling she'll follow us sooner or later, so it'll only be for a while."

"Has she said something?" Stiles asks. "I haven't seen her much lately."

Peter shrugs. "She doesn't need to. You're her pack. More than Scott is."

"What about you?" Stiles asks. "Are you pack to her?"

The question makes him pause. It's something he's wondered himself. "I think we might get there. We're something." There's an undeniable bond, but neither Malia nor he are ready to own up to it. Following Stiles may change that. But for now, 'something' is all Peter can say with certainty.

And Stiles nods like he knows that. Like he only asked the question to hear Peter voice the answer out loud.

"I don't think we should tell anyone you're coming with me until it's a done deal, though," Stiles says. "I'm not ashamed of you or anything, I just think it’ll make everything easier."

Peter nods. "I agree. I wasn't sold on telling you yet." He smirks. It's still a month away, after all. 

"Afraid of what I'd say?" Stiles asks shrewdly.

Peter meets his eyes but doesn't answer. He lets his expression speak for him as he rolls his eyes.

"Fair. But I think we've come far enough that… you know." 

"You're okay with it?" Peter has to double-check, gauge the truth in Stiles's heartbeat before he can let himself believe it.

"We're pack," Stiles says firmly. "And… maybe I didn't fully understand what that meant before you showed me, but I get it now, and I'm not backing out. Pack isn't something you pick up and put down again. It means more than that."

"You're right," Peter says quietly.

"Dude, I'm always right."

* * *

The turning point is when Braeden calls asking Peter for backup because Derek's missing. Peter asks why she called him instead of Scott.

"You know how to get things done," she says. And then, "I'll see you when you get here." She hangs up and Peter's left wondering what, exactly, Derek's tangled up with if Braeden needs _Peter_ of all people.

Stiles is looking at him, eyebrows raised, smelling of impatience. "Where are we going?"

Peter puts his phone away. "My nephew managed to land his ass in trouble again. And, once again, it is up to me — and potentially you, if you're not sick of doing so yet — to go haul him out of it."

"I might get sick of doing things for Derek without thanks, but if Braeden called you to watch her back I'm not letting you go without somebody to watch yours."

Peter stares at him for a moment. The sentiment makes him pause. He recovers as quickly as he can. "Fine. I trust I've taught you better than to do something stupid."

Stiles rolls his eyes. The urge to kiss him is strong, but Peter resists. "Let's call Braeden back and get more info so we're not walking in blind."

Peter smiles and takes his phone back out.

* * *

The drive to Oregon isn't long, though Peter worries about the Jeep the whole way. He's seen under the hood. He knows it's held together with duct tape and sweet talk.

Their destination is idyllic. There's fresh air and even more greenery than in Beacon Hills. Peter wouldn't mind coming back sometime under less extreme circumstances.

Braeden gets right to it when they arrive at her motel room. She doesn't seem surprised to see Stiles.

"Derek went missing three days ago," she says in a carefully controlled voice, though she smells tense and anxious. "Last week around Seattle we got the feeling we were being followed. We didn't see anyone, and Derek said we should split up to figure out which of us they wanted." She shakes her head. "That's when they got him. He never showed and it took me too long to figure out where they headed after."

"You followed them here," Peter states. He stays calm for Braeden's sake.

"Eventually, yeah. But I wasted too much time, should have been able to get them in transit. Now they're dug in at a warehouse and I can't get to Derek by myself."

"Who is it?" Stiles asks. He sits on the edge of a double bed, watching Peter and Braeden.

Braeden narrows her eyes. "Hunters."

Of course. Peter swears and Stiles gives him a sympathetic look. It seems Hales are plagued by hunters. 

"Can you draw a map of the warehouse where they have him?" Peter asks.

Braeden nods and hands him a sheet of paper, map already drawn. He can see where the guards and entrances are, and where they’re keeping Derek.

Stiles gets up again to look over Peter's shoulder. "What do you know about them? They took him and didn't kill him?"

"That's where it gets weird." Braeden points at the map. "Here are the rafters, pretty sturdy, new enough that they don't creak. I hung out there for hours before I finally overheard enough to put it together. They set up an exchange with some witches who wanted a werewolf. They're planning to sell Derek."

"Hunters working with magic users?" Peter’s skeptical. "That doesn't happen often."

"I think it's a double cross." She pauses, shifting uncomfortably before admitting, "I'm not sure, though."

"It's risky, keeping Derek alive." Peter frowns. "But not if the payout is a slaughtered coven."

Stiles's heart rate is climbing. He's scared. "So we go to the magic users?" he suggests. "Tell them what we suspect."

Braeden shakes her head. "They want to _buy Derek_. We can't trust them."

"We don't have to trust them," Peter interrupts. "We just need a temporary truce."

"So how do we find them?" Stiles asks.

"That, I don't know," Peter admits.

Stiles snaps his fingers. "We can be there when the meet goes down, and when the hunters try to double cross the witches, we ride in and save them. That'll earn us a little goodwill, right?"

"That's better." Braeden nods and relaxes now that there's a plan. "We can work with that."

Stiles grins, proud of himself.

"Lots of variables, though," Peter warns. He doesn't want to risk Stiles unnecessarily. "It'd be much easier if we could get in and get Derek free before we had to deal with anything else."

"There's a lot of them," Braeden points out. "I doubt we can pull it off."

"When’s the deal happening?" Peter asks. "Do we know where?"

Braeden shakes her head. "Tomorrow sometime, and they said something about the woods. They probably already have a place scouted if it's an ambush, so if you can follow their scents and find the meeting spot, that would help."

Peter nods. It's as good a plan as any.

"I'll go with you," Stiles says.

"I'll head back to the warehouse and see if I can find out anything else," Braeden says.

Peter doesn't tell her to be careful. He knows she will be, and that she wants to check on Derek. He nods, and she returns it.

* * *

"Do you think it's weird they didn't take Braeden out when they grabbed Derek?" Stiles asks while Peter is following the hunter's scent trail. "She's not exactly subtle in her badassery."

Peter pauses. "They split up. It was probably expedient to take Derek and leave her. And don't forget, hunters are almost always sure of themselves. If they knew she was human, they probably didn't see her as a threat."

"That's dumb. _They're_ human, they should remember how dangerous we can be."

Peter glances at Stiles and smiles. He can't help it. He likes how confident the boy has grown because of their training.

"What? What are you smiling about?"

"Anyone would be stupid to underestimate you," Peter says. "I'm just pleased you can see that now."

"Just because you taught me forty ways to kill someone," Stiles says with a snort. 

"That number seems low. I'm sure I've taught you more than that. And you were dangerous before," Peter says. "You just didn't realize it."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Oh, but you did?"

Peter doesn't want to divulge how long he's been drawn to the boy, nor does he wish to inflate Stiles’s ego. Confidence is one thing, but overconfidence is dangerous. He nods and turns back to the trail.

Stiles is quiet as he mulls that over. Peter slows down so he doesn't leave Stiles too far behind. It's getting dark, and while Peter can see clearly, he knows Stiles will have trouble. 

Sure enough, Stiles trips over a root. Luckily, he's been taught how to fall so he doesn't injure himself. "Shit." He fumbles with his phone and turns on an app that does little to light the way.

Peter sighs, dramatic and teasing, and pulls a mini tactical flashlight out of his pocket. "Try this."

Stiles turns it on and scans the ground, checking for more hidden roots. "Thanks. Where'd this come from?"

"Borrowed it from Braeden before we left." 

"I should've thought of it," Stiles grumbles. "I'm the one who can't see in the dark."

"We're pack. You watch out for me and I watch out for you," Peter says.

They follow the trail a little further, until they reach a clearing where the hunters' scents converge. Then he notices something else. "Well we can definitely be sure the hunters have a plan." Peter reaches out and takes Stiles's wrist so he can point the light. "Look."

"Is that a claymore mine?" Stiles asks, his voice higher than normal. His heart starts pounding.

"Yes. And I can smell others. So the hunters were planning to get the witches here…" He trails off, thinking.

"Can we move them without blowing ourselves up?" Stiles asks.

Peter nods. "We could. Or we can tamper with them so they don't go off. That way the hunters won't notice anything's wrong until the last minute. If we move them, they'll know."

"Right. Well I don't know shit about anti-personnel mines other than to stay away from them, so I hope you do."

"Don't be ridiculous! Of course I do." Peter grins. "I'll even show you what I'm doing so you can learn."

"Awesome," Stiles says. "Though I think I'd rather stay as far away as possible. Can't you just tell me about it later?"

"I promise not to blow us up," Peter reassures with an eyeroll. "But if you'd like, you can follow the wires for me. We need to know where the hunters plan to wait."

They find four mines in total. Peter makes short work of them and then paces the area. He needs to remember every detail.

When Peter's satisfied they've left no trace of their sabotage or their presence, they back away and head back to meet Braeden.

* * *

"We'll need to grab Derek while they're fighting each other…" Stiles says around the pen in his mouth. They're back at the motel and Braeden is even more anxious now that she's seen Derek. She doesn't mention it, but Peter imagines he's in poor condition.

"Except no one knows us, so the witches will think we're hunters and the hunters will think we're part of the coven," Peter points out. He draws the pen away from Stiles's gnawing. "This isn't the best plan."

Braeden pulls out things that look like grenades. "I have smoke bombs. No one will be expecting that, so we'll have the advantage. They’ll give us cover while we rush in, grab Derek, and get out. Lots of confusion, perfect for a quick extraction."

Stiles mutters something about 'misuse of military equipment' but he doesn't object. Peter refrains from smiling indulgently at him.

Peter's taught Stiles how to fight blind. He may trip over roots in the dark, but he can hold his own wearing a blindfold. A little smoke won't stop him. And Peter, well. Peter doesn't particularly like smoke, but he'll deal with it because he has to. At least it isn't fire.

* * *

Once they're back at the motel safe and sound, Stiles curses. And he doesn't stop at one.

Peter sees Braeden has Derek well in hand, so he goes to Stiles. "Follow me."

He got a room earlier, not knowing what kind of condition Derek would be in or what kind of privacy they’d need. He’s glad of it now. Stiles follows in a daze. His hands are shaking. Peter knows he'll crash soon, once he realizes they're out of danger. 

"Everyone's okay?" 

Peter hands him a bottle of water from the mini fridge. "Everyone is fine. Derek's a little dehydrated, and he still has wolfsbane in his system, but it'll clear out and he'll be alright. No one was hurt. We protected each other."

Stiles pulls his knife out and stares at the blood on it. Peter remembers the moment Stiles used it. A hunter aimed a gun at Peter, but Peter didn't see until after. Stiles saw and acted.

"You saved my life," Peter says. 

Stiles looks from the knife to Peter's face. "I did good?"

And Peter can't stand that he's not holding his boy right now. He pulls the knife out of Stiles's hand and sets it aside — he'll clean it later — before wrapping the boy in his arms. Stiles leans in gratefully, relaxing and letting out a long sigh.

Peter squeezes him. "You were magnificent."

Stiles laughs wetly and holds on, hands clenching in the front of Peter's shirt. Peter holds him closer. 

"C'mon. Let's get you to bed. You'll probably sleep long and hard after all that."

"'m dirty," Stiles grumbles, but he allows Peter to help him to the bed. He gets in and blinks up at Peter. Then he smirks. "Long an' hard."

Peter rolls his eyes while his lips twitch in amusement. "Go to sleep, Stiles."

"Stay?" 

"I'm not going anywhere," Peter assures him. 

Stiles huffs and pats the space beside him. "C'mon."

Peter raises his eyebrows, but Stiles gives him a stubborn look, so he toes out of his shoes and lies down on the bed. "Satisfied?" 

"Mhm. Sleep now," Stiles mumbles.

Peter smiles. "You first."

He doesn't say a word when Stiles slings an arm over his chest and immediately starts snoring, though it takes him some time to drift off himself. In the end, Stiles smells like home and pack, and that plus his body heat lulls Peter to sleep.

* * *

Peter's never gotten anything he wanted without fighting fang and claw for it, not until now. When he wakes in the morning and sees Stiles's sleepy-eyed smile, he thinks he's close to getting what he most wants in the world. He backs away from that thought, straight into the bathroom where he takes a hot shower and dresses in clean clothes.

But once he's back out, watching Stiles sleep, he starts feeling greedy again. He already has the thing he wanted most: _pack_. Having Stiles as his his partner and mate is a pipe dream. Still, he can't resist pressing a kiss against Stiles's forehead.

Stiles goes still. Peter pulls back, and averts his eyes. Recriminations echo in his head. 

He's fully dressed except for his shoes, so getting out the door doesn't take long.

"I'm going to get breakfast." Peter closes the door on the sound of his name.

When he gets back (coffee for two, plus blueberry pancakes and bacon for Stiles, eggs and a sausage biscuit for himself), Stiles is freshly showered and sitting on the edge of the bed. The boy looks up at Peter with an inscrutable expression.

"Hungry?" Peter asks, not knowing what else to say. "Got your favorites."

Stiles's eyes flit to the to-go boxes and back to Peter. "Put it down, I'll get it in a minute."

Peter walks past him and puts the food on the table by the window. "Is everything alright?" he asks, then fiddles with the draperies' pulls. He opens them, letting in sunlight. The view is terrible, but at least the room no longer resembles a cave.

"Turn around," Stiles says from right behind him.

Wary, Peter does. He still can't read Stiles's expression. "Stiles?"

And then Stiles leans in. He doesn't move slowly, but Peter feels like it's happening in slow motion. That might be because he's frozen in shock. The next thing he knows, Stiles's lips are on his. Peter stands there, not knowing how to respond.

Stiles pulls away, licking his lips. He watches Peter like he's waiting for something.

"What-" Peter starts to say.

"Is that okay?" Stiles sounds unsure of his welcome and that jolts Peter into action.

Peter answers by reeling him in with one hand at Stiles's nape to kiss him with all the desperation, the pent-up longing he's had for years. He groans when Stiles gasps and kisses back, and then they're pawing at each other like they can't get enough.

Peter will never get enough.

Stiles surges forward and Peter's ass hits the table. He spreads his legs to let Stiles in closer, and Stiles moans when there's no room between them. Still, it doesn't feel like enough. Peter wants skin, to touch and taste every inch of Stiles, and the urge to strip him naked, throw him down, and _take_ him is overwhelming.

He hears a low growl and a moment later recognizes it as his own. He wants to take it back, afraid of pushing Stiles too far, too fast, but Stiles lets out a laugh and then pulls him toward the nearest bed.

Peter has to stop, take stock. They're panting from kissing. It takes him a moment to catch his breath. "You're sure?"

"Hell yeah," Stiles says, reaching for him again. 

Peter catches his hands in mid-air and shakes his head. "There's no turning back from this," he warns. "I won't be a casual fuck."

The excitement rolling off Stiles intensifies. His expression is earnest. "That's not what I'm after. I want _you_."

What can Peter say to that? It's everything he craves. He's dreamed of this moment. 

When he kisses Stiles this time, it's more careful. Stiles huffs and hops up, wrapping his legs around Peter's waist and kissing harder. Peter catches him easily, hands grabbing his ass for support. He carries his boy to the bed, laying him down gently. 

Stiles looks up at him, eyes dark. Peter traces fingertips over his cheek, lips. Stiles smiles, taking Peter's fingers into his mouth, sucking softly. He keeps their eyes locked. It's enough to make Peter's cock fully hard. He rocks against Stiles's thigh and the boy's eyes crinkle like it's funny. 

"I'm going to fucking ruin you," Peter promises pulling his fingers away.

Stiles smirks. "Is that so?" 

Peter snarls and kisses him again, deeper this time. He knows Stiles is goading him but goddammit, it's working. He wants to erase the mocking smile, to reduce Stiles to a quivering creature of need. 

Stiles hitches a leg around Peter's waist and moans, but it's soft and not nearly desperate enough. Peter wants Stiles to burn with desire, to beg for every new touch, every kiss. Peter wants to own this boy in every way that matters.

"Fuck." Stiles, pants against Peter's hungry mouth.

"Yes," Peter answers on a low growl.

"Why aren't we naked yet?" Stiles pulls at Peter's shirt with eager hands.

Peter gives him a hard kiss and then sits back on his heels, pulling his shirt off. Stiles's hands are on him immediately, seemingly eager for skin. They're a little cool against his overheated body, but it's touch for the sake of it, without violence or ulterior motive. He's only had a few hookups in the two years since his coma, so when Stiles slides eager hands over his chest and abdomen, it all feels very new. Exciting.

"You too," Peter says, pushing Stiles's t-shirt up from his waist, rucking it around his armpits, revealing beautiful skin that makes Peter's mouth water.

Not to mention his nipples. Stiles's are small and hard, and Peter wants to find out how sensitive they are. He can practically feel them against his tongue and he hasn't bent his head yet.

"My eyes are up here." Stiles’s voice is wrecked already.

Peter smiles. "Can't help looking."

Something complicated flows across Stiles's face. Disbelief. Awe. Uncertainty. Peter wants to wash the insecurity away.

"I wouldn't lie." Peter leans down to tongue at one of Stiles's nipples. "You're very tempting"

Stiles hisses a laugh and threads his fingers through Peter's hair. "Okay, got it. Jesus."

Peter lifts his head just enough to to meet Stiles’s eyes. "Good. Though I'd be happy to reiterate the point as many times as needed, in as many ways."

Stiles squirms. "You make that sound so dirty." 

Peter smirks. "It's a gift." 

"God, why are you so smug," Stiles whines, and pulls Peter down for another kiss. It's hotter this time, filthier. Proof that Stiles is getting more comfortable.

Peter lets him control the kiss for several long moments, before tilting his head and brushing his lips against the boy's cheek, across his jaw, down to his neck to rest against his jugular. He can hear Stiles's heart rate pick up when he realizes what Peter’s doing. But the boy doesn't smell of fear — only excitement and need. Peter rumbles and sucks up a bruise, then pulls back to look at his work. The mark stands out possessively. It does something to Peter to see it.

"Werewolves are so weird," Stiles grumbles. "Are you done yet? Can we get on to the fun parts?"

"Don't pretend you don't like it." Peter says with a knowing smile. "But I'm curious to know what you think the 'fun parts' are."

Stiles's face turns pink but he doesn't hesitate. "Dicks. Dicks are fun parts."

Peter laughs and kisses him again, feeling lighter and happier than he has in years. "I'll be sure to pay attention to your fun parts, sweetheart."

Stiles beams at him. "You should laugh more often."

Peter can't think of a way to answer that won't leave him exposed. He doesn't laugh because he's not happy. Stiles changes that, and this fledgling thing between them changes everything.

There are hands at his waist, then Stiles unbuttons Peter's jeans, popping it a little awkwardly. Peter knows Stiles isn't a virgin, but…

"Have you done this before?" 

Stiles flushes a deeper red. "Been with a man? No. But I know what I want."

"I wasn't questioning that, sweetheart." The endearment slips out again. That's twice, but Stiles doesn't seem to mind.

"I do want you." Stiles unzips Peter's fly and reaches in to pull him out. His fingers tremble a little, but Peter thinks it may be excitement more than nervousness. "I can't even tell you how much." His fingers are sure when they wrap around Peter's cock.

Peter loves Stiles's hands. He's fantasized about them, And now they're on him. Stroking him. It's almost too much to bear. Peter moans and thrusts into Stiles's hand, his eyes slipping closed.

"I knew you'd be uncut," Stiles says, looking at him with curiosity. "I'm not quite sure what to do with foreskin but I think I can figure it out."

"You could. Or you could get naked and let me suck you off."

Stiles's hand tightens and then pulls away. "Oh my god. That… yes. I like this plan." He peels his shirt off and then leans down to start on his jeans.

Peter pulls away to undress. Stiles's eyes follow him as his scent goes spicy-sweet. It's enough to make Peter want to slow down. He's just wearing a pair of boxer briefs slung low. He turns, showing off his thighs and ass as he skims out of his underwear. Stiles sucks in a breath, more proof that he's affected, though Peter's listening more to his galloping heart.

Stiles is beautiful, naked now and spread out on the bed. He has one hand clenched in the sheet while the other strays to his cock.

"Let me," Peter murmurs, and puts a knee on the bed before crawling up so he's facing Stiles's erection.

"Whatever you say."

Peter meets his eyes and smiles. Then he lowers his head so he can breathe over Stiles's twitching cock.

"Fuck," Stiles whispers.

Peter hasn't done this in years, but fellatio comes back to you, he finds. He takes Stiles in hand and slides his tongue over the slit, before sucking the head into his mouth. Stiles props himself up on one elbow and runs his other hand through Peter's hair. 

"Jesus, Peter!" He gasps when Peter tongues his frenulum. "Yeah."

Peter pulls away long enough to smirk up at Stiles. Then he takes the length into his mouth, all the way down to his hand at the base. Stiles whines and the hand in Peter's hair tightens.

Peter feels unstoppable. And he wants more. So he lets Stiles's cock slide out of his mouth, and noses along the crease of his thigh. He smells even better here, more potent, less diluted.

"What are you doing?" Stiles whimpers when Peter tests the weight of his balls with his tongue.

"Getting to know you," Peter answers. "Spread your legs, sweetheart."

Stiles obeys wordlessly, spreading his knees. 

Peter runs his hands up Stiles's thighs and then lifts, causing a squawk. Peter stuffs a pillow under the boy's hips, then leans in to lick a stripe across his perineum and down to his hole.

"Oh, god," Stiles gasps. "That's… are you sure? I mean, yes. Do that again. Please? Oh god."

Stiles's ass is virgin-tight, and Peter can only think what a joy it’ll be to work it open, licking and fingering until Stiles is begging and ready for Peter's cock.

It's only when Stiles whimpers, "Yesss," all drawn out and breathless that Peter realizes he said that out loud. Lost in the moment. 

"Please, Peter." Stiles licks his lips and smells of anticipation. "Would it… you want me to roll over? Would that be better?"

Peter's cock throbs at the suggestion. "Yeah, sweetheart. Roll over for me." Stiles shivers at the husk in his voice.

Stiles wriggles, moving the pillow as he rolls onto his stomach. Peter takes in the sight of his long, bare back, his pert ass cheeks, the cleft hiding his tight hole. Peter runs fingertips down Stiles's spine, making him shiver again. His hands settle on Stiles's ass to squeeze and knead the pale flesh. Stiles moans and arches into it. "Love your hands on me." 

Peter runs his nose along the crack of Stiles's ass, down, down slowly until his hands gently pull and he can see that pretty exposed hole. 

He can smell Stiles’s excitement, and now it’s tinged with embarrassment. It doesn't change how much Stiles wants him. In fact, the lust-scent increases, and Peter smiles to himself. Stiles rocks against the mattress, enjoying everything. Still, Peter wants to hear the words. "Enjoying yourself?"

Stiles huffs a laugh. "Yeah, everything's good. Great. Get back to the, um, the licking."

"In a minute." Peter stops to get lube from his bag. Stiles cranes his neck to see.

"Sure of yourself?" Stiles jokes.

"It's just always good to be prepared," Peter says. "Condom?"

"We don't need it. It's okay."

"Might be easier to clean up," Peter points out, though the thought of fucking Stiles bare, of spilling inside him, is exciting.

Stiles bites his lip. Then he shakes his head. "No condom."

Peter nods. Then he settles back in behind Stiles and gets back to tasting and teasing Stiles's hole until the boy can't help but beg for more.

Stiles moves a lot. He writhes. He twitches, especially when Peter pays attention to his perineum. He can't wait to see how Stiles reacts to having his prostate played with.

When Peter breaches Stiles with his tongue, the boy cries out, hands scrambling in the sheets. Peter groans--the air is heady with the scent of their desire, almost overwhelmingly thick. 

Stiles opens up slowly but surely, and Peter decides to introduce a finger. Stiles immediately pushes back, taking him in farther than Peter'd prepared for. "Yesss," Stiles says between clenched teeth. 

"Eager?" 

"Ngh, yep," Stiles agrees. "I need more, Peter. Please."

Peter hums, pleased with the want in Stiles's voice. "Well, since you asked so nicely."

"Peterrr," Stiles whines.

"Oh, sweet boy." Peter, leans down to kiss Stiles's back. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else." He slicks his fingers and starts working two into Stiles's body. Once they're past the tight ring of muscle, they get pulled right in.

Stiles moans and pushes back, eager for more. Peter didn't expect this kind of enthusiasm. But then he wonders how he could have thought Stiles would be any other way. His boy is so alive, ready to take on the world and experience new things. Peter should have known he'd take to being fucked.

Peter can't help the way words keep falling out of his mouth. "You're so perfect for me. I can't wait to get inside you."

Stiles moans when he hears the words, reacting to the praise. He gets up on his knees and bows his back, his head down, and when Peter i works in another finger he nearly sobs.

"Good, baby?" Peter isn’t even keeping track of the endearments anymore. 

"Yes, yes," Stiles chants breathlessly. 

"You're doing well. You just need to open up a little more before you can take my cock. You want that, sweetheart?"

"Nnngh, you know I do." Stiles's voice cracks and his heart gallops. "Want you stuffing me full …"

The words steal Peter's breath. Stiles has his head craned to look at him, eyes lust-dark and shining, lips red and puffy from being bitten. He looks so beautiful, so perfect, and Peter's about to go out of his mind with it if he can't get inside his boy as soon as possible.

He twists his fingers deep and crooks, rubbing the pads against Stiles's prostate. Stiles jerks and whines, clenching as if to wring out more pleasure.

"Fuck. Do that again," Stiles says, and drops his head down to the pillow with another gasp when Peter complies. "God, that feels so good. I… I'll come if you keep it up."

Peter growls. "I'd rather you come on my cock. I want to feel you fall apart."

"Yesss, fuck me."

Peter loves how demanding he is. Loves everything about him. He pulls his fingers out and slicks his cock. Stiles goes still, listening. 

"C'mon," Stiles whispers. "Please."

Peter teases with the head of his dick, and Stiles lets out an adorably frustrated growl. Peter chuckles and lines up, then pushes inside. He goes slow, careful not to hurt his boy, but Stiles rocks back, forcing Peter inside faster than he planned. But he needn’t have worried — Stiles is taking him like a champ, gasping with pleasure.

Peter tries to stay slow and even but Stiles isn't having it. " _Fuck_ me." 

Peter can only do as he says, helpless in the face of Stiles's demands. They find a rhythm and, Stiles lets out a string of curses when Peter finds his prostate again. he curses even louder when Peter reaches around and takes his dick in his hand . 

"I'm going to come if you do that," Stiles pants.

"That's the point, baby. Let go."

"Not without you," Stiles insists. His heart’s racing, and Peter can tell he's close. Hell, Peter is, too.

Peter would like to draw it out, make it last, but he can't. Not this time, anyway. He strokes Stiles's cock and thrusts faster, his orgasm building and his balls drawing up, ready to empty inside his boy.

Stiles gasps, and then the scent of his come hits the air. Peter snarls and drives home before he stills, coming deep inside Stiles's body.

* * *

Breakfast is cold by the time they get to it. Peter suggests they go out and get burgers, and bring some back for Derek and Braeden.

"I'm proud of you," Peter says after they go through a drive-thru. 

"For what?" Stiles stuffs a handful of fries in his mouth.

"You held your own last night." 

"Mmph." Stiles chews slowly and swallows. Then, "I killed someone."

Peter glances over at him. He doesn't smell like guilt but he's staring at his food with unfocused eyes. "You saved my life."

"I'd do it again," Stiles says. "I'm just wondering if I should feel more than… relief."

"Why relief?" Peter knows the answer, but hearing what Stiles has to say about it is important.

"Like you said, I proved I could hold my own. Before this, I was worried I wouldn't be able to. It's a relief to know I can. And I'm a little proud of myself, too."

"As you should be," Peter murmurs. He reaches over and squeezes Stiles's hand.

Stiles turns his hand over and threads their fingers together. "So we're a thing now? I mean, if you want. You sounded like you want."

Peter strokes his thumb over the back of Stiles's hand. "I've wanted for some time." The admission is big, he knows. 

Stiles lets out a breath and squeezes Peter's hand tightly. "So that's a yes, then. Okay. Good."

Peter chances a look at Stiles and sees he's smiling. Peter can't help but smile back.


End file.
